defining spring
by laced umbrella
Summary: Memories are weak things. Minor ItaSaku


**A/N: **I _miss_ Itachi.

"_I'm sorry."_

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_She cries. _

_He smiles._

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"_I'm so, so, so sorry."_

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**d**efining

**[spring]:**

_noun_

o1. leap over something

o2. rise

o3. season of the year

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><p><em>i. she is hated.<em>

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><p>"She was—" a woman with black hair says, "—such a pretty, pretty girl. Such a talented girl."<p>

Another laughs—a cruel sound, glass cutting, "Look at her now. What a _pathetic_ woman. What did the great Tsunade-sama ever saw in _her_?"

She ignores the stares, the whispers, the laughs and walks onwards in her own pace, eyes looking forwards and nowhere but _forwards_.

It isn't long before someone approaches her.

It's a woman—in her early twenties, perhaps—with dark hair and dark eyes.

There is intent behind the eyes.

A second passes and something disgusting trails down one of her pink tresses.

_Spit_ lands on her face.

She recoils with disgust but she does not give them the satisfaction of victory. She wipes it off with a delicate dab of the wrist, curtseys mockingly at the perpetrator and continues on as though nothing had happened, eyes proud and lips curling into a haughty half-smile.

It is only until she reaches the safety of her flat that she allows herself to laugh and cry.

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><p><em>ii. she is loved<em>

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><p>The flowers are beautiful.<p>

She is fond of flowers—all those years of kunoichi training and Ino combined defines the root her love for them, she guesses. She would never be an expert on each one's meaning like Ino, of course, but that did not mean she couldn't appreciate them.

Colours spilled from the bouquet in floods and floods; red—yellow—green—blue—violet.

Ino sure knew what to do, she thought.

"They're pretty, Okaa-san," her six years old son says, long black lashes lowered over black eyes which glistened at her over the kitchen countertop, smiling, "Really pretty."

She looks into the dark eyes of her son—so like his father, she thinks, with a heavy pang in her chest—and smiles back. There's a warmth curling in her stomach that has everything to do with Keitaro.

She hums a familiar tune as she places the flowers into a vase.

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"_You're miserable." _

_His tone is flat—emotionless and so very much _him_._

_She denies it with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders, "What do you know?"_

"_A lot more than you do."_

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><p><em>iii. she is hostile<em>

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><p>She is still technically a shinobi—a proud kunoichi, medic-nin and an apprentice of Tsunade's.<p>

That would never change.

Nevertheless, she does not work. More so, she cannot. Where she was once loved and she loved in return had twisted against her. The Hospital had been her life for so many years so when Naruto told her—with a rueful grin, messy hair and the most sincere look that a person like Naruto could possess—that she was no longer welcome due to the changes; due to the choices that she'd made, she _was_ sad. Kakashi visited her daily after that occurrence with Naruto though she repeated ignored him at each of these meetings and was, even to herself, unreceptive.

She still misses that part of her life.

The breeze stirs a little too fervidly, the leaves scatters around her; winding and weaving themselves into her hair. She made no moment to brush the foliage from her hair.

And she sighs.

"You again."

He does not reply but she did not expect him to.

"What do you want?"

Her tone is jaded, tired, cold, weary and every other negative word there is.

Three seconds.

"Stay away, Sasuke."

A grand total of three seconds before she walks back into the house, the door slamming shut and the porch feeling somewhat empty.

It isn't a request. Nor is it a demand, a threat. It's a conclusion.

Because she knows he's a coward, no matter what, and she saves his dignity each and every time.

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><p><em>iv. she is kind<em>

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><p>Ino is ever the most cheerful person when Sakura visits her flower shop.<p>

"Forehead, I'm considering stopping our friendship. I hardly ever see you anymore," the blonde would complain, bustling around before her eyes, arms full of newly cut flowers.

She would laugh and make some half-hearted joke and Ino would pretend to giggle when they both knew that they were humouring themselves and straying from what they wanted to say.

Today, she sees a little girl instead of her best friend, fiery red sunset locks instead of bright yellow; severely underdressed in a dress, a pink one that clash horribly with her hair.

She does not say or do anything—the villagers were everything but friendly towards her and their children had a habit of developing the same hatred towards her and Keitaro.

Somewhere, in the furthest corners of her mind, a little voice remarks that she now knows how Naruto felt, what Naruto went through.

"Are you the traitor lady?"

The voice is innocent enough, laced with naïveté and wonder but the words are unsettling, a little.

Just like her, once upon a time.

The girl carries on, "Okaa-chan says you are. She says that you're the lady who ran off with somebody that you shouldn't have." She tilts her head, as if wanting confirmation. None is received. "But I..._I_ want to be a strong medic-nin when I'm older. Just like you were. Are, I—"

"What are you doing here?"

The girl appears crestfallen at her tone but recovers quickly, "I'm waiting for oba-san."

"Ino?"

"Hai!"

She feels as though she should say something, anything, to the child but the words don't form—

It was such a Sasuke moment.

—but she eventually settles for a regular smile and a, "Good luck."

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"_Ne, Sakura-chan, I think you've been hanging around with us too much!"_

"_Mhm, maybe."_

"_You're not happy."_

"_I'm not."_

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><p><em>v. she is Sakura—<em>

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><p>She is Haruno Sakura.<p>

She is living with her son in their small apartment and works as a kunoichi.

She is twenty-five years old.

Many days, she dreams of could have-beens and would have-beens and should have-beens because it's her moments of weakness that she allows herself. No one is invincible.

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><p><em>vi.<em> —_and she is living._

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><p>Sakura lives, breathes, smiles, laughs, cries to remind herself that she's still somewhat there. She thinks of Itachi often although it always shocks her when his name is mentioned because no one wants to talk about <em>him<em>.

Naruto explained to her once, a long time ago, that they couldn't possibly tell everyone of the truth behind The Massacre. As the Hokage, he is now responsible and less-Naruto than before but he's one of her boys and she loves him.

Sasuke had decided he would let the Uchiha line die with him. When Keitaro was introduced to him, Sasuke simply stared at her, told her she was annoying and mumbled something or other.

She had smiled, because, what else can you do?

Their sensei, however, did not have his fairy tale ending—not that any of Team Seven did. Hatake Kakashi had gone missing before Keitaro's sixth birthday and presumed dead. His name etched into the list of Konoha's heroes and the memories are the only things left of him. But memories are weak things; they do not last and they have no substance. They are not solid.

Sakura had intended to for Keitaro to lead a civilian's life but as he grew older and curious, she had no choice but to inform him of his choices. She did not tell him of the Sharingan, nor of his father but somehow, he found out anyway, believing him to be the traitor that massacred his entire family but one.

She dreads the day he is assigned to his first team.

For the moment, she lives.

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"_It's Hanami again."_

"_Forehead, stop being so serious and enjoy spring. Happy birthday!"_

"_Thanks."_

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_fin_.

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**A/N**: my first (ever) attempt at a fanfiction. Hooray. What do you think? Feedback is welcome.

(it probably could have been a lot better.)


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